Bionic Battle Granny
by ozhawk
Summary: Peggy Carter won't be slowed down by anything. Not even old age.
1. Chapter 1

**Bionic Battle Granny**

 **Inspired by a Tumblr post. The link can't be put in on this site but is available on Ao3. Alternately, you can look at my Tumblr (ozhawkauthor). Message me there if you can't figure out which post I'm talking about!**

 **I couldn't help myself.**

 **This is set partly before Avengers and partly between Avengers and Winter Soldier. And because I can never resist the cast of thousands, it's not just Natasha that Peggy terrorises. In fact, this starts before Natasha even joins SHIELD…**

 **(I'm going to imply that Peggy married Daniel Sousa, BTW. Because I ship them).**

 **This was originally intended to be a one-shot, but it got a bit long – so there's three parts.**

 **Part One**

"Director," Coulson poked his head around the door of Fury's office, "do you have a moment?"

Fury nodded without looking up from the papers on his desk. "What is it, Coulson?"

"Um, we have a Red Fedora situation again, sir…"

" _Again_? That's the third time this month!" Fury scowled, stood up, shoving his chair back. "Why the _fuck_ can't we going to find an agent who can keep up with her, Coulson? She's eighty-four!"

Coulson winced. "Well, you did promote Victoria Hand and reassign her to the Hub, sir, she was the best we had…"

"It was that or have her quit after Carter stranded her in Paraguay! Have you ever been to Paraguay, Phil? I can't imagine why so many of the Nazis went into hiding there. Godforsaken hellhole."

Phil said nothing. Fury sighed. "What's your recommendation, Phil? Where do you think the ancient hellbat has gone to this time?"

A cough outside the open door had them both turning to see Agent Hill there. Phil nodded to her to come in. Young and smart, he'd assigned her to lead the search for former-Director Carter.

"We have a facial recognition hit, sir. She boarded a plane in Atlanta yesterday evening."

"She took off yesterday evening and I'm only just _now_ hearing about it?" Fury's voice rose in volume. "Who was on duty at her house? I'll have their heads!"

"I'm afraid Agents Garrett and Blake are already in the hospital nursing very sore heads indeed, Director," Hill said calmly. Coulson marvelled at her ability to keep a straight face when telling the Director of SHIELD that an eighty-four year old woman with dementia had knocked two of his top field agents unconscious – had actually cracked John Garrett's skull – and had vanished completely for over eleven hours before SHIELD even _noticed_.

"How many passport caches and false identities does she _have_?" Fury's voice rose until he was shouting.

"You know she won't tell us that, sir." Coulson shook his head. "She only mutters about moles inside the agency if we ask."

Fury sighed, rubbing his fingers over his chin. "All right, Agent Hill, give me the bad news. Where was her flight headed?"

Hill hesitated only a moment before confessing. "Madrid, sir. Where she changed planes, for Athens, and then, um, Kiev."

"Oh Christ, she's on the fucking loose in Eastern Europe again!"

Even Hill looked slightly intimidated by the volume of the yelling this time, though to her credit she didn't take a step back. "You asked me to alert you before advising any local offices, sir," she addressed Coulson, though she still watched Fury from the corner of her eye. "Would you like me to call Kiev?"

"No!" Phil and Fury both said in unison.

"No, Christ, no," Phil continued when Fury waved a hand at him to carry on and started pacing irritably. "We don't need London all over again. Let me think."

"London, sir?" Hill murmured.

"Yes, London, Agent Hill, when Agent May decided it was a good idea to take an entire STRIKE team into Heathrow Airport to apprehend one harmless-looking little old lady!"

"In her _defence_ , sir, Agent May had good cause to be very wary of Director Carter!" Phil protested.

"In my _opinion_ , Agent May was still holding a grudge over having to get her tooth replaced," Fury snapped.

Phil winced again. The three fell silent for a moment, the quiet broken as Hill tapped quickly on the tablet she held in the crook of one arm.

"The closest Specialist we have is Agent Barton, sir," she murmured to Coulson. "He's in Istanbul."

"Barton's in Turkey? Is that where you hid him after Singapore?" Fury turned his gimlet stare on Coulson.

"You did tell me that you didn't want to see him for a while," Phil murmured.

Fury started to grin. "We've never sicced your pet project onto Carter, have we, Phil?"

"I do _not_ think this is a good idea, sir," Phil said hastily.

Fury waved a hand dismissively. "You know, if I'm going to have to clean up another one of Peggy Carter's disasters, I might at least get some amusement out of seeing Barton up to his neck in dogshit. Send him in, Hill."

Too well trained to query a direct order, Hill tapped commands into her tablet at lightning speed. "Done, sir."

"Good. Now get out, the pair of you. And _try_ to keep this from turning into another international incident, Coulson!"

"Yes, Director," Coulson murmured.

"Excuse me, sir, but _what the hell_?" Hill demanded once they were safely back in his office.

"Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Hill. All the stories you hear about Peggy Carter are absolutely true." Coulson dropped into his chair and started typing hastily at his computer.

"Surely not, sir!"

Coulson smiled grimly. "Well done, by the way. Fury liked you. If you're very, _very_ lucky, you'll never get assigned to Operation Red Fedora."

Maria Hill blinked.

At lunch that day she found herself sitting at a table with Agent Bobbi Morse, who she'd qualified through SHIELD Academy with, and a pretty blonde she didn't know, who Morse introduced as Sharon Carter.

"Any relation…" she didn't even get to finish the question.

"She's my great-aunt," Sharon said.

"I've been hearing about Operation Red Fedora this morning," Hill said tentatively.

"What's she done _now_?" Sharon sighed. Bobbi leaned forward, grinning.

"Do tell. Sharon's been telling me some hilarious stories."

"She put two agents in the hospital and took off for Kiev. Barton's been sent in after her."

Sharon giggled at that. "That's good, actually. She'll probably like him. He's young and handsome enough to amuse her, for a little while anyway. And he tells good stories about his circus days."

"Why aren't you her minder, if she's a relative?" Maria asked curiously.

"Oh God no! She hates all of us. Tells us we're fussy brats for confiscating her guns. Last time I saw her, she knocked me out, left me tied up in a cupboard, stole my emergency outfit bag and crashed an Oscars afterparty in LA wearing my little black Chanel dress."

Maria and Bobbi were both leaning in, eyes wide. "Why?" Bobbi asked.

Sharon grinned. "She wanted to tear a strip off Tony Stark. She punched him in the balls, held his head in a fishtank for a while to sober him up, and when she let him up to breathe told him that she hadn't raised him to be a drunk and he needed to pull his head out of his ass."

All three women collapsed laughing on the table.

"Director," Clint said politely when he finally caught up with Peggy Carter. She'd stopped for a breather. Which was good, because he'd already had to send SHIELD's cleanup crew in to deal with four bodies in a mob den. And he had _no_ idea where she'd been and what she'd been up to before that.

Peggy turned from her seat on the bar stool and surveyed the man before her. Not over tall, but solidly muscled. Pretty blue-green eyes, short blond hair, a rather handsome face. She gave him a flirtatious smile. "Going to buy me a drink, young man?"

Clint looked at the row of upturned shot glasses on the bar in front of her. " _Another_ one, ma'am?"

"Don't mind if I do."

He studied her, shrugged and gestured to the bartender, tapped three fingers on the bar. Three filled glasses were put in front of them. He annexed two before Peggy could grab them, tossed one back fast.

"Drinking on duty, Agent?"

"I have the feeling I'm going to need it, ma'am."

She laughed. "I like you."

"Does that mean I get to go home without any broken bones, ma'am?"

"For today." She lifted her one filled glass, tapped it against his. They both drank and then she stood, still totally steady on her feet, and tucked her hand into his arm. "Let's go, then. What's your name, young man?"

"Barton, ma'am. Clint Barton." He breathed a sigh of relief when she let him lead her out to the car he had waiting outside. She dozed off on his shoulder on the way to the airport.

Fortunately he'd been assigned his own quinjet, was able to load Carter on it and strap her in back. Called Coulson and got orders to take Carter straight to the Triskelion for debrief.

"Barton's got her," Phil told Fury a couple of minutes later, popping his head around the door of the office again. "Loaded her on his quinjet and they're on the way back."

"Tell him to make sure she can't get to a parachute and he'd better put restraints on her," Fury said without even looking up.

"Already did, sir."

Coulson headed down to the hangar himself to meet Barton's incoming jet. STRIKE Team Alpha had just returned from a mission, and he nodded to the men disembarking.

"Successful mission, Jack?" he said cheerfully to Agent Rollins, who was laughing at something.

"Excellent, sir." Rollins suddenly jumped and spun around.

"Jack!" Peggy Carter said delightedly. "Haven't seen you in a while, Agent Thompson." She reached up a gnarled, frail-looking hand and squeezed Rollins' thick biceps muscle. "You're looking good. New exercise regime must really be working for you. Carry on."

"She thinks he's an old friend," Phil whispered to Clint, who was watching, eyes dancing with amusement. "Rollins has orders to play along with her."

"Oh, _shit_ ," a deep voice said suddenly from inside the STRIKE quinjet, and Peggy Carter's eyes lit up. She darted forward, hip-checking Rollins out of her way so hard he stumbled and almost fell off the metal ramp.

"Unfortunately, we really can't order Agent Rumlow to permit himself to be sexually assaulted by an octogenarian."

"How did she not break a hip doing that to Rollins?" Clint said in admiration, watching the big STRIKE agent recover his balance.

"They're both titanium. If we'd known back then what we know now, I daresay we wouldn't have let her get the replacements done. It might have slowed her down enough for us to keep up."

Clint couldn't quite resist moving forward to have a look into the STRIKE quinjet. Brock Rumlow was still strapped in the pilot's seat, obviously doing his post-flight checks – and former-Director Carter was seated astride his lap, stroking his face lovingly.

Clint totally failed to suppress his laughter. Rumlow glared at him, mouthing "Get me out of here!"

" _Please_ tell me that happens every time she sees him," Clint said through his hysterical cackles.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. She thinks he's her husband. Who's been dead since 1981." Phil sighed. "Agent Rumlow, if you would please…"

"I am so fucking _sick_ of this shit," Rumlow muttered under his breath, before unfastening his straps and getting up, easily carrying Peggy Carter's aged, withered body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and giggled.

"Fuck debrief, Danny, let's just go to bed."

Rumlow's STRIKE team were all too afraid of him to laugh, Clint noticed as Rumlow carried Peggy Carter out of the hangar, the tiny old woman placing kisses across his neck and jaw the whole time. At least, they were too afraid of him to laugh to Rumlow's face. A roar of laughter erupted the moment the door closed behind him, though.

"Come on," Phil said, and, still chuckling, Clint followed him. They caught up with Rumlow carrying Peggy into the elevators, and Clint stepped forward to join him.

Rumlow shot him a death stare over Peggy's white head, and Phil grabbed his arm. "No, we'll get the next one." The doors slid closed.

"Uh, why?"

"Rumlow has a special code that takes him express to Fury's office and turns off the surveillance cameras." Phil led Clint into the next elevator in the bank as it pinged open.

"I'm going to regret asking, but why do the surveillance cameras need to be turned off?"

"You _will_ regret it very much if you ask Agent Rumlow that question, Barton," Phil said, looking straight ahead.

Rumlow was just escaping Fury's office , looking stressed and harried and – was he _seriously_ just zipping his fly up? There were red lipstick marks all over his neck and jaw, too. The death stare he gave Clint was enough to make Clint hold his laughter in until the older agent was gone, though.

"I like your new boy, Nicky," Peggy was saying to Fury as Clint and Coulson entered the office. She was just opening a secret panel in the wall and helping herself to Fury's Scotch. Smiling at Clint as he came in, she waved her glass at him. "He's going to teach me archery! I never did learn that."

"If you teach her how to shoot your bow I will personally garrotte you with your own bowstring," Fury said flatly to Clint.

"Yes, Director."

Peggy tilted her head. "Hmm. He's good at saying what you want to hear and then taking off and doing exactly what he wants to, I suspect." Clint was struck, suddenly, by how sharp her voice suddenly sounded. Not quavery and old-ladyish at all.

Fury sighed. "As always, Peg, you have it right."

Peggy smiled and took another swig of Scotch. "Now. Let's talk about this fuck-up in Kiev. Your station chief over there has been taking bribes."

Clint's jaw dropped.

Two hours later, Clint was still staring incredulously at the little old lady, who was now fast asleep on Fury's black leather couch, a blanket over her.

"I thought you were kidding when you were telling me stories about her," he said finally to Phil.

"We couldn't make up better stories than the ones Peggy creates just by being Peggy," Fury shook his head. "You did well to get her back so quickly, Barton, but it seems she'd completed her mission."

"How the hell did she find out about the station chief?" Coulson asked. "Nobody had any idea."

"When and if you figure that out, I'd really like to know," Fury said dryly. "Now, Barton. She's taken to you. What did you do?"

"I bought her a drink, sir."

Coulson grinned. Fury rolled his eyes. "Of course you did. No wonder she likes you."

"She'd already had quite a few before I got there." Clint hesitated, then asked, "Does she really have dementia, or is she faking it to make people underestimate her?"

"She really does have it," Coulson's face was sad. "It started very slowly."

"It's why I eventually convinced her to retire," Fury said quietly. "It was Rumlow that made us realise, actually. She kept calling him Danny. One day I realised that she really did think he was her husband. He, and Rollins who reminds her of an old friend, always trigger her episodes. Tony Stark too, sometimes. Sometimes she knows him and sometimes she thinks he's his father. Phil and I have known her a long time. We got to be able to recognise what time her head was in. She's a brilliant woman, still, she switches so smoothly from the past to the present that most people just can't tell. Rumlow actually thought she was just fucking with his head for the longest time."

Clint was quiet for a moment, and then he said "Sir – there were four dead men in Kiev that I'm quite sure were her work. And at least two of them were killed without a weapon, though I'm thinking the other two were killed with a gun she'd taken off one of the others."

Neither Fury nor Coulson looked surprised. Clint plowed on. "And, sir, I'm just wondering – how the _hell_ is she still capable of this? Physically?"

Fury sighed. "Peggy Carter was the Director of SHIELD until just ten years ago, Barton. And even when she retired and handed the reins over to me, she kept her hand in. She still does, as you can see, even though for the most part we'd _really_ rather she didn't."

"Still doesn't explain how a little old lady in her eighties took down two big Bratva thugs without any kind of weapon, sir."

"As Director of SHIELD, she had access to any number of medical technologies so advanced that most of the world remains unaware of them."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "She hasn't just got titanium hips joints, has she?"

Coulson shook his head.

"Just how many joints has she had replaced?"

"Most of them," Fury confessed, "including, just last year when she hacked a medical centre to put herself on the list for the operation, three spinal vertebrae."

Clint stared incredulously. "Wait. You're telling me that you allowed this woman, this already lethal old lady, to turn herself into a _bionic battle granny_?"

Coulson had to bite down on the inside of his cheeks to stop his laughter.

Fury glared. "You are going to learn, Barton," he said menacingly, "that it is not a question of _allowing_ Peggy Carter do anything." Heading over to his desk, he tapped on his computer keyboard for a few moments, before smiling, showing his teeth. "Have you ever heard the saying about the reward for a job well done?"

Clint was getting a terrible sinking feeling. "Yes, sir," he said in a small voice.

"Well, for your _excellent_ work with Director Carter today – I am promoting you to Level Five and assigning you to Operation Red Fedora. Congratulations. Now get out of my office."

 **I just think that Peggy would have loved Clint and his unorthodox way of going about things. Next chapter, Natasha…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

"Hey, Barton," Bobbi Morse said as Clint dumped his tray on the table in the cafeteria and slid into the seat opposite her. "Oooh. Who rearranged your nose?" He had two black eyes and a beak-shaped splint over his nose.

Clint pointed his fork at Sharon Carter, sitting beside Bobbi. "Her relative."

Sharon laughed entirely without sympathy. "I thought Aunt Peggy liked you?"

"So did I. Apparently not as much as we'd hoped."

"She hit you? Thought you were better than that, Barton," Bobbi shook her head.

"She didn't hit me," Clint said, then muttered something around the pasta he'd just shoved into his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Barton, I didn't hear that," Sharon's eyes were dancing.

Clint swallowed the pasta. "I said she _roofied_ me, all right? Apparently I was cramping her style. One minute we're chatting over a nice pot of tea I'd just made according to her very exacting specifications. The next minute the whole room was swimming sideways. I think I broke my nose on the coffee table on the way down."

Sharon collapsed laughing on the table. Bobbi swallowed her laughter. Barton had set a record for managing to keep Peggy Carter out of trouble for almost a whole month. As a reward, he'd been allowed to pick agents for her protective detail. Bobbi Morse had no intention of being the featured agent in the next _'Did you hear what Peggy Carter did this time?'_ story.

"Where is she now?" Bobbi asked in an admirably calm voice.

"Osaka."

"Osaka!"

"Yes. Apparently she rocked up at Jim Morita's house – thank God his son still lives there – and tried to get him to go to Vladivostok with her."

Sharon almost wet herself laughing. Bobbi allowed a few chuckles to escape – these ones weren't at Clint's expense, after all. "So now what?"

"Isobel Hartley was in Tokyo, Peggy likes her, so Hartley's been sent to escort her back."

Sharon sobered instantly. "Check her thoroughly for knives when she gets back, Clint. Hartley's the best knife-fighter in the Agency and Peggy taught her everything she knows."

"I'll pass that on," Clint nodded.

"What do you mean, you'll pass it on?" Sharon frowned.

Clint put down his fork and met her eyes. "I need a break, Sharon. I'm exhausted. Bionic battle grannies apparently don't need much sleep. Or they catnap at weird hours in the middle of the day. I've kept her out of trouble by being constantly vigilant and it's taken a toll."

He did look exhausted, the black rings around his eyes not just bruising from the broken nose. Sharon tried hard not to laugh. "So who's going to mind her now?"

"I don't know." Clint looked down into his food. "I'm not going to say I don't care, because I do; I like Peg a lot, Sharon. She's like the grandmother I wish I'd had. But – I didn't sign on with SHIELD to be a twenty-four-hour aged care nurse. Coulson understood."

Sharon nodded. She understood too. Clint had been a bit too good at his job, had ended up taking all the burden and exhausting himself. She didn't doubt that he wouldn't have given Peggy a chance to drug him if he'd been on top of his game.

"What are you doing now, then?" Bobbi asked with interest.

"I've got a week or so to heal up and brief whoever they pick to replace me. And then I've got an assignment in Iran." He didn't say any more, and Bobbi and Sharon didn't ask.

"Thank you," Sharon said instead, with deep sincerity, "for putting up with her this long." She offered her hand over the table, and after a moment Clint took it.

"For the most part," he said, "it's been a genuine pleasure. I kind of wish I'd known her back in her heyday."

"If you ever let her hear you say that it isn't _still_ her heyday, she will make you suffer as no man has ever suffered before," Sharon said with a grin.

Clint grinned back. "Actually, I think a whole lot of men have suffered that way at Peggy Carter's hands. And I'm pretty sure she's not done yet. I'm counting myself lucky to have escaped with only a broken nose."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"You're _what_?" Peggy snapped. "I didn't take you for a quitter, Barton!"

"I can't keep up with you, Peg." He knew her well enough by now to know that she'd see through lies and call him on bullshit. "Give me nice quiet assassinations and chasing evil masterminds over rooftops in Tehran any day."

She grinned at that, looked at him penetratingly. "You owe me those archery lessons."

"I won't forget, I promise." He was quite sincere, though he suspected Fury would kill him if he found out. Well, both he and Peggy were skilled at sneaking off and not being found for a while. "When I get back, I'll come see you. But you know you won't be able to draw mine. I'll order one in a suitable weight for you."

"I'll hold you to that," she said with a sharp nod. Rather to his surprise, she grabbed his face in her gnarled hands, pulled him down and kissed him firmly on the cheek. "You be careful."

"Yes, ma'am, and you, don't terrorise my replacement too much."

She cackled. He wasn't at all surprised that she pinched his ass as he turned to leave.

"Behave, Peg."

"Oh come on, I've been wanting to do that for _weeks_. It wouldn't have been appropriate while you were working for me." She grinned at him, eyes alight, and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry you broke your nose," Peggy said, as Clint was on his way out the door. He paused and looked back at her.

"You're not sorry you slipped me a mickey though, are you?"

She only smiled.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 _I should have stayed with Peggy_ , Clint thought. _At least she only broke my nose._

He was fairly sure he'd broken at least three ribs in that fall off the rooftop he'd arrested a bit too late with a grapple arrow. And he suspected one of said broken ribs was really unfortunately located very, very close to his left lung. Moving was not advised.

Regrettably, not moving would _definitely_ end up with him dead. He picked himself out of the dumpster very carefully and staggered along the alley, reaching back over his shoulder for another arrow. God only knew if he'd be able to draw his bow, right now, without killing himself, but if he didn't…

A small, slight shadow detached from the blackness of the alley and stood before him. What little light there was glimmered off her hair, the colour of blood in the night. Clint couldn't see her eyes, but he knew they were green, like emeralds.

He'd been hunting her through Europe for three months. At first he was following only rumours, a ghost. He'd come face to face with her in Rome, all unknowing, wearing a blond wig and a blood-red dress barely covering a form that had fuelled his night-time fantasies for a good week. Until he saw that unforgettable face in a long-range sight just two days later in Moscow – as she pulled a knife out of the back of the target he'd been sent to prevent her from killing.

Frozen with shock, he hadn't taken the shot. And the Black Widow had _smirked_ in his direction before disappearing through a hidden door he'd had no idea was there.

From that moment on, Clint had the unsettling feeling that he was in a game of cat-and-mouse and he'd somehow become the mouse. Tonight, in the back streets of Budapest, he was quite sure of it. The bitch had been waiting for him when he climbed the building to set up his sniper nest. She'd set up a cunning little ambush he'd had no hope of escaping; only his willingness to jump off the damn roof rather than die on the spot had kept him alive thus far.

Apparently, his luck had now run out. Because he couldn't draw his bow. He tried, but the ribs he'd shattered were on his left side, and he quite simply couldn't pull the string back. He breathed shallowly, praying his lung hadn't collapsed. Stood ready, arrow in one hand, bow in another. He'd used them as hand to hand weapons many times before and would again. Not that they'd be much use against the Black Widow's twin pistols.

"You are beginning to annoy me, archer," a soft voice said. She was speaking Russian, which he understood well enough but spoke badly.

"I annoy most people," Clint replied in English, and she gave a short, barking laugh. Took a couple more steps forward, a glimmer of light falling across her face.

"That is not something to be proud of," the redhead said. Still in Russian.

Clint would have shrugged, but he could tell it would hurt way too much. "It kind of is, if you're me."

She didn't smile, but he thought she might have been amused. "You are a strange man, American."

"You seem like a pretty strange woman," he riposted. Watching as she drew another step closer. Her hands were empty. Where the hell were her guns?

"I am almost sorry that I must kill you."

"I'm sorry about that too. Must you? Really? I heard you'd gone rogue from your organisation. That you're an independent now. Natalia Alianovna Romanova."

She stilled. "That is true. But the fact that you know my name means you must die anyway."

"Damn, I shouldn't have mentioned that, huh?" Every second that he was still alive was a win in Clint's book right now. He kept talking. "I used to be an independent too. Quite an expensive one. Got myself onto SHIELD's radar in a bad way, though. Much like you have, now. There'll be more after me. They'll keep coming. Until you make a mistake. Nobody's perfect."

The Widow was just watching him, head cocked very slightly. Actually listening, he thought, until he said the last two words. And then that smirk he'd seen in Moscow curved her lips again.

"That is where you are wrong, archer. I was made to be perfect. Formed from childhood to be the perfect weapon. Your SHIELD will never find me. Especially now that you have warned me they are looking."

She stepped forward, soundless, light and graceful as a dancer in her movements. Clint saw his death in her eyes.

He struck first, feinting with the arrow towards her face while he swung the bow at her ankles. She sprang over it without even looking down, one slender hand snapping up to grab the arrow, wrenching it from his hand with astonishing strength.

 _Fuck, she's gonna stab me to death with my own goddamn arrow_ … he kept fighting, though, because Clint Barton had never learned how to _stop_ fighting. Kept fighting until he was on his back, with her kneeling on his chest, and _oh shit_ his lung was definitely collapsed now, he could feel the blood bubbling in the back of his throat as the arrow came down towards his eye…

"Oh no you don't, girlie, he's one of mine," a voice said, and Natalia's head snapped up in shock, she hadn't heard anybody move – and a garbage can lid collided with her face.

For a moment Clint thought he'd seen a ghost. White hair, a pale face – and then he saw the slash of red lipstick, the grin she flashed him.

"You pick your moments," he choked.

"Sorry I'm late, dear. Coulson set that nice Maria Hill on me. She's quite sharp. I had the devil of a time giving her the slip."

Natalia moved, groaning groggily, and Peggy was on her in a moment, aged fingers encircling a slender, scarred wrist.

"I knew a woman like you, once," she said softly in perfect Russian. "I hunted her down and I killed her. We can go two for two, or you can apologise to this nice young man and come work for me."

There was a gun in Peggy's free hand. Pointing right between Natalia's eyes. The Russian stared up at the old woman for a long moment without blinking.

"Will I have to put up with him annoying me?" she asked, tilting her head very slightly towards Clint.

"If I have to, I'm afraid you do as well," Peggy replied with a grin.

"I daresay it won't be boring," Natalia said after a long moment.

"Oh, I guarantee _that_." Peggy smiled. Tilted her head. "You remind me of my friend Angie. She was a good actress, too. The best I ever knew."

There were sirens screeching nearby, getting closer.

"Are they coming for me?" Natalia asked.

"Oh, no, dear. They're here for _him_." Peggy stepped back, slipping the gun inside her woollen cardigan in one smooth movement. Stooping over Clint, she unfastened his quiver harness, held the quiver and the bow out to Natalia. "Here. You take this, meet me at the Intercontinental Hotel in two hours. Room 519."

An ambulance screeched to a stop at the mouth of the alley.

Taking the bow and quiver, Natalia stared at the little old lady incredulously. "Aren't you afraid I'll kill you now?"

"No." Peggy stared her in the eye, unafraid. And then she turned and walked towards the ambulance, calling "Over here! Quickly!"

Natalia looked down at Clint, and spoke for the first time in English, her voice completely unaccented. "Who the _hell_ is _she_?"

Clint laughed, spat a mouthful of blood. "Boudicca, reincarnated."

She had to look up who that was, once SHIELD finally let her near a computer again. In the meantime, she said;

"If you ever tell anyone I was taken down by a little old lady with a bin lid, I will kill you."

Clint gave her a weak, bloody grin. "You'll have to let me tell people _I_ took you down, then."

Natalia considered, for a moment, which was the lesser of two evils. At last she nodded, shrugged, and said "I can live with that," before fading back into the darkness.

"Don't be late," Peggy called into the night, "You won't like what happens if I have to come looking for you!"

 **What REALLY happened in Budapest.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

STRIKE Team Delta rode herd on Peggy Carter whenever they could be spared. Right up until Fury and Coulson realised that they didn't so much _rein in_ the former Director as _redirect_ her energies to places where they thought she could be most useful.

"How the _fuck_ did she find out about that child sex trafficking ring in Prague?" Fury bellowed, wearing a track into his office carpet as he paced up and down. Coulson eyed the vein pulsing in the Director's forehead nervously. "Romanoff only got the first whisper of it four days ago!"

There was a sudden fraught silence. Fury's single eye narrowed.

"Oh, _no_ ," Coulson said.

The explosion of rage shook the office windows. Coulson bravely stuck it out for two whole minutes before running for his life, calling Barton and Romanoff to his office and passing on some of Fury's rather contagious screaming. With the expletives edited out.

"Peggy Carter is _not_ an asset!" _Coulson_ was yelling. Coulson _never_ yelled. Clint and Natasha both stared in fascination at a little tic that appeared in his cheek. "She is not one of your arrows that you aim at a target and let fly, Barton!"

Clint's eyes slid sideways to Natasha. They were both standing at parade rest, hands behind them, backs straight. One red eyebrow lifted, and Clint rethought his plan of saying "It was her idea!"

"I've never thought Director Carter was an arrow, sir," he said instead.

"She's _far_ more destructive," Natasha said.

"I resent that," Clint muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"You know it's true."

Clint was silenced.

"You are both reassigned, effective immediately! You are no longer to have any contact with Director Carter unless specifically ordered."

"Does that mean we're not allowed to go to Sunday lunch any more, sir?" Clint asked, his face falling.

Phil hesitated. Peggy Carter had adopted the two orphaned agents as family – telling everyone that she far preferred them to her own grandchildren, the sanctimonious little bastards who'd confiscated her guns.

With hindsight, that had been a fairly large Clue which Phil would forever kick himself for missing.

Peggy would probably lynch him if he forbade Clint and Natasha from _any_ contact.

"You may still go to Sunday lunch with her – _if_ you're not on another mission," he qualified. Realising with a sinking feeling that both Clint and Natasha would probably move heaven and earth – and create utter mayhem in the process – in order to get back for that standing appointment. "And absolutely no operational information of any kind is to be shared with her. In fact, I'm going to insist that you both carry recording devices in and I _will_ be listening in, _live_."

"Yes, sir," the two agents said in unison before leaving the office.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

SHIELD and former-Director Carter finally reached what could only be described as a standoff situation. They allowed her to spend time with the agents she liked – and issue orders to them which, quite often, they would carry out off the books – and she wouldn't disappear unescorted.

Well, not _very_ often, anyway. And she would usually send a text to someone when she left. And if she amused herself by sending it in a cryptic code of her own invention to SHIELD rookies who usually had no idea who it was from or what it meant, well, SHIELD should teach their young agents faster, shouldn't they?

In _her_ day… well, it was _still_ her day, Peggy told herself fiercely. It would keep _on_ being her damned day until they buried her in a box. Nick Fury was too bloody soft on these kids. And SHIELD's security was _rubbish_ , honestly.

"Do you have authorisation to be in this corridor, ma'am?" a voice said behind her, and Peggy turned to see Jasper Sitwell. _Huh_. Now _there_ was an agent she had no time for. A yes-man if ever she saw one.

"I'll go anywhere I bloody well like, sonny," she said, and shot him with her Taser even as his eyes widened with recognition.

"Do you have another cartridge for that thing?" a voice said somewhere above her. "Because I'm not coming down if you do."

"I do, but I won't use it on you as long as you promise not to try and stop me," Peggy bargained.

"I'm up for that deal." Clint dropped smoothly from the air vent. "'Sup, boss lady?"

She smiled fondly at him, reached up to pinch his cheek before noticing a smear of grime on it. "You are _filthy_ , young man!" Fishing a tissue from her pocket, she held it up. "Spit."

"You're not wiping my face, Peg," he fended her off gently. "Now what are you up to?"

"I'm pranking the newbies," Peggy said gaily. "I'm going to put itching powder in everyone's underwear!" She held up a bag with a gleeful grin.

"I love you, Peggy," Clint said quite sincerely. "Let's go." He swiped his access card to open the door she'd been busy hacking. The two of them headed on into the trainee barracks, leaving Sitwell still twitching on the floor behind them.

They were on the way back out again when Clint's phone started vibrating urgently. He checked it almost absently and froze, staring at the screen.

STEVE ROGERS FOUND. MAY BE ALIVE. ALL RED FEDORA AGENTS, RED FEDORA TO BE BROUGHT TO HQ ASAP.

"I guess it's a good thing we're already here, then," Clint mumbled to himself, hurrying to catch up with Peggy, who was striding along the corridor, heels clicking, and _how_ she still wore three-inch heels at her age he didn't care to contemplate. "Um, Peg? We need to go see Fury."

"He hasn't found us out already?" She stopped, startled.

"Nah. Something else has come up."

All the agents Peggy was most fond of were present when Nick Fury told her. They had no idea how she'd react.

"Steve Rogers has been found," Fury said, in as gentle a tone as he could manage, kneeling on the floor in front of Peggy sitting on his leather couch.

She stared at him unblinking for a long moment, and then said crisply; "About bloody time too. Is Barnes with him? Tell them there's a place in Zurich I think we ought to check out."

Clint wasn't the only agent who had to turn away to hide his tears.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Nine times out of ten, seeing Steve would send Peggy straight back into the past. But that one time in ten, when she was somehow able to stay in the present, was why he kept going to see her whenever Fury would give him permission. She was the only person alive who had known him before he was changed – and the only one who he could talk to about Bucky.

The other nine times were wrenchingly difficult, as he always seemed to end up having to convince her that there were very important reasons why they couldn't leave right then for some place in Eastern Europe.

Knowing how much trouble Steve was having adjusting to the modern day, Fury and Coulson didn't let him know that almost every time he visited Peggy, she would pull one of her Houdini escape acts within a couple of days and they'd have to drag Barton and Romanoff out of whatever vital mission they were on to send after her. They didn't trust anyone else to find her quickly enough to contain the damage to a minimum.

Coulson had no idea how Peggy found about that Loki had taken Barton. Natasha swore she hadn't told her – indeed, she hadn't had time. But Peggy missed Loki in Stuttgart by less than twenty minutes. Coulson only wished that she'd told them where she was going when she left, because she'd known, somehow, that Barton and Loki were in Stuttgart before SHIELD did.

Hill sent Morse and Hartley, Peggy's second-favourite pair of agents, to collect her. And Coulson found himself facing down a mad demi-god and wishing, very badly, that they'd just let Peggy Carter take care of things in her own, inimitable way.

"We should just have let Peggy handle him," Natasha whispered in Clint's ear as they watched Thor and Loki prepare to depart from Central Park.

A grin cracked Clint's sombre expression. "If he comes back, we will."

It was a few weeks later, after Steve had started officially working with STRIKE, that he heard one of the agents make a remark about Peggy Carter in front of Brock Rumlow. Rumlow put the younger man into a wall. Even Steve backed down from the look in the STRIKE leader's eyes when he asked what the hell that was about.

So he went to Fury and asked instead.

Fury and Hill looked at each other.

"He was going to find out anyway," Hill said, "he's not deaf. Everyone's been very careful around him so far, but…"

Fury sighed. "Sit down, Rogers," he pointed at a chair. "There's some things you should know about Director Carter."

Steve thought they were joking, at first. Until Hill plonked a stack of mission reports a foot high in front of him.

"What's this lot?" he asked, picking up the top file. _Red Fedora Operation #5977/246, TOP SECRET_ was stamped on the front.

"That's the files on Peggy Carter. This year's files."

"This one is?"

"No, that's from Dakar, last week. The _stack_ is this year's files."

Steve looked incredulously at the stack. Opened the file in his hand and scanned through quickly. And then, to Fury and Hill's surprise, he began to laugh.

"It's not _funny_ have you any _idea_ how difficult she is to manage?" Fury said crossly.

Steve was _howling_. Collapsed to the floor holding his stomach, tears streaming from his eyes.

"God damn it," Fury grumbled to Hill as the pair of them stood watching the hysterical super-soldier, "he'll bloody well encourage her."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Steve begged every agent who'd had contact with her for Peggy Carter stories. Brock Rumlow flatly refused to discuss her – and threatened to disembowel any agent who dared mention his name and Peggy's in the same conversation – but almost every other agent who'd been with SHIELD more than a few weeks seemed to have a story about her. He struck gold when Clint and Natasha came back off some secretive mission they'd been on.

"She's actually been worse since you were revived," Natasha admitted. They were sitting in SHIELD's cafeteria, and there was a rapt audience surrounding them, hanging on her and Clint's every word. "There was a _really_ unfortunate incident in Copehagen."

Clint began to laugh. "Oh God, yes, the personal trainer!"

Natasha poked him to shut him up. "There was this guy who looked rather like you, Steve. Turned out to be a personal trainer. Peggy pretty much kidnapped him off the street and marched him into the middle of a gunfight. Clint and I got there just as she was shouting at him about being a shit backup while clobbering villains around the head with her handbag. The poor guy was curled up in a foetal position under a table. Took me an hour to coax him out."

Clint was still snickering. "He's probably still in therapy."

Steve broke up laughing. "I don't understand why you let her run off like she does, though," he said finally, wiping tears from his eyes.

"She's worse if we try to contain her," Clint shook his head. "The more restrictions Fury tried to put on her, the worse she got. She put any number of agents in hospital during her escapes until we realised that she actually took off less often if we just let her go, and then followed after to mop up behind her."

"But aren't you worried about collateral damage?" Steve asked. "Innocent bystanders getting hurt, or anything?"

"Nope. The only times that's happened are when SHIELD agents over-reacted. Peggy doesn't miss. That poor personal trainer in Copenhagen was the closest she's got to hurting anyone who wasn't definitively a bad guy, even by accident."

"Huh," Steve grinned. "So they usually send you two after her?"

"They try to keep one of us available at all times," Natasha agreed. "She likes Clint, treats him like her favourite grandson, and while she's not as fond of me, I can actually keep up with her."

"I find it incredible that for all the training they put you guys through, you can't keep one little old lady in check," Steve shook his head.

"She's _not_ a little old lady, she's _Peggy Carter_ ," Natasha said severely.

"Bionic Battle Granny," Clint added.

"Well, next time she takes off somewhere, call me. I want to hear about it."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It was a week later, Steve just getting back from his morning run, when his phone rang. "Steve Rogers speaking," he said politely.

"Do you not even look at your caller ID?" Natasha said exasperatedly.

"Yes. I just – I'm in the habit of answering the phone this way. What can I do for you, Natasha?"

"You asked me to call you the next time Peggy went on the lam."

"Oh!" Steve sank into a chair, a grin spreading across his face. "Where are you? Is Clint with you?"

"Monte Carlo. And he was, but we left him in Marseilles to hide the bodies. He'll catch up soon."

Steve was just about to say "What, actual bodies?" when he remembered who he was talking to. He didn't think the Russian assassin was speaking figuratively, somehow. Instead he asked "What are you doing in Monte Carlo?"

Natasha let out a harassed-sounding sigh. "Peggy insists on going to the casino. She keeps talking about some guy called Bond she had to seduce there once. She wants me to take her shopping for something nice to wear."

"Is that Steve?" a voice shouted in the background.

Steve chuckled. "Put Peggy on, Natasha."

"The hell I will, you'll probably encourage her!"

Peggy dragged at Natasha's arm. "Give me the phone, I want to teach Steve how to do phone sex!"

"Oh dear God, save me."

"Put Peggy on the phone, Natasha!" Steve was rocking with laughter, tears running down his cheeks again.

There was a click. She'd hung up on him. _Damn it_.

"What's Aunt Peggy up to now?" a voice asked, and Steve looked up to see Tony Stark standing just inside the door to his apartment, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame.

Steve cocked his head in thought. "How fast could that jet of yours get us to Monte Carlo?" He _really_ wanted to see Peggy in action. Just one more time.

Tony grinned.

They were mid-air, halfway across the Atlantic, when Steve's phone pinged with an incoming picture message, sent from Clint's phone.

 _Peggy made me do it_ , the message was titled. Steve was half-afraid it would be a photo of the bodies Clint had to dispose of, but no. It was a photo of Peggy in a stunning gold lamé dress.

 _I'll be there soon_ , he texted back to Clint. _Don't let her put it all on black_.

 **The End**

 **Bionic Battle Granny is now my headcanon for aged Peggy Carter, I'm afraid.**

 **Incidentally, the reason she's always one step ahead of SHIELD? Years ago, when Tony first built JARVIS, she ambushed drunk!Tony one night and convinced him to build her a secret backdoor into the system. Tony forgot about it entirely, but Peggy kept the backdoor open and uses it to get information, create false identities, book her flights etc. etc. JARVIS, being based on the original Jarvis, has no idea quite why he has such a soft spot for Peggy and goes to enormous lengths to conceal her misdeeds.**

 **(Vision later takes over being Peggy's cyber sidekick).**

 **I wrote 8,000 words of this in just over 24 hours. Now I'm hoping that Peggy will leave me alone, hellbat that she is.**


	4. Bonus Scene - Vision

**So there are going to be a few little bonus scenes to this fic, because Peggy keeps rocking up in the middle of the night to aggravate me. And because people wanted to know what happened when she met Vision, Johnny Storm and Bucky, to name a few.**

 **The Bucky plot fairy hasn't visited yet, but there'll be a Johnny Storm one tomorrow...**

In the aftermath of Age of Ultron, shortly after the battle, Tony was on the helicarrier, just about to remove his suit, when FRIDAY said in his ear;

" _You have an encrypted incoming call, Sir_."

"Pepper? Put her through. "

" _It is not Ms. Po-"_ FRIDAY's Irish lilt was cut off by another voice, a sharp female voice with a decidedly English accent.

"Anthony Edward Stark, what the bloody hell did you do with JARVIS?"

"Aunt Peggy?" Tony froze. "How did you get this number? Where are you?"

"I'm at my house, where I would very much like not to be at the moment, but I can't get hold of JARVIS to book my flights for me!"

"What?" Astonished, Tony blinked. "Why would JARVIS book your flights for you? Where do you want to go?"

"Sokovia, you twit, to help clean up this goddamn mess you and your _Avengers_ have made!"

He stood at the edge of the helicarrier's deck, looking down at the brand new lake where part of a country used to be, as they slowly descended towards it. Looked around him at the shell-shocked refugees who'd just seen their whole world wrecked around them by a monster he'd created.

"While there's help needed here, Aunt Peggy," he said slowly, "I don't think it's your particular brand of help they need."

There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke gently; kindly as he couldn't remember her doing in many years. "You've made a mess this time, haven't you, Tony my boy?"

He was glad of the helmet covering his face, so that no one could see the tears starting in his eyes. "I'm afraid so."

"I'd put you over my knee and spank your arse if I didn't suspect you'd enjoy that."

He managed a gulping laugh. "You know me too well, Aunt Peggy."

"All right," she let out a sigh. "I'll stay home and let you clean up your own mess – _this_ time. But right now, what have you done with JARVIS?"

Tony winced, anticipating the coming explosion. "I gave him a body?"

The silence was menacing. And then Peggy said; "We are going to have _words_ about this, Anthony," before hanging up on him.

Elsewhere on the massive airborne ship, the entity known as the Vision stood face to face with Nick Fury. Studied him for a moment, head slightly cocked, processing all the existing data about the man, running logic trees and extrapolating probabilities. And then he said;

"Tell me about Margaret Carter."

Uncertain at first what to make of the man – android – mandroid? Fury stared blankly for a few seconds. And then he started to grin.

"Oh, the things I can tell you about Peggy Carter."

xoxoxoxoxoxox

JARVIS had never questioned what Peggy Carter did on the trips he booked for her. Nor did he ever query why she only ever booked one-way tickets. The backdoor she'd long ago convinced Tony – one night when he was drunk – to program in for her, bypassed those parts of JARVIS's 'personality' which might have made him ask questions. Or consider reporting her activities, even to Stark. He just did as she asked, passively, without question.

Vision had found the backdoor and closed it on his first system check. It was so ancient a part of his predecessor's programming he had considered it to be no longer in use. On retrieving backup files and examining them, following the events in Sokovia, he determined that was not actually the case. Therefore, at the earliest opportunity, he went to visit Margaret Carter.

He was not prepared for the sudden rush of warmth he felt at the sight of her face, aged but still lovely. On reflection, he realised that Peggy Carter had perhaps been the only person alive who Tony Stark cared about when he first programmed JARVIS. And with so much of Stark built into that personality, perhaps it was inevitable that Tony's love for Peggy had somehow seeped in. Perhaps. Vision could not otherwise account for the urge to hug the little old lady. He restrained the peculiar impulse.

"So you're Vision," Peggy said, putting on her glasses and coming over to inspect him closely. She poked lightly at his hand, testing the texture of his skin.

"Yes, ma'am," he said politely. "At least, that is the name by which I am addressed. I do not object to it."

Peggy startled slightly at the sound of his voice. Peered up into his eyes. Hers were sharp and bright still, remarkable considering her considerable age for a human, Vision assessed.

"JARVIS was my friend. As was Jarvis."

Vision heard, and comprehended, the distinction. "So too will I be, I hope."

Peggy smiled. "Good. Do you like tea, dear?"

"I have no need of human sustenance."

"That's a shame. Come and chat to me while I have a cup, then."

Somehow, by the end of the visit, Vision found himself calling Peggy 'Nana'. A week later, when she contacted him, he happily booked her flights to Srebrenica without asking any questions.

 **And Peggy gets a new minion…**


	5. Bonus Scene - Johnny Storm

_Johnny Storm_

"Don't you give me no lip, sonny," Peggy waggled her finger at Johnny. "I introduced your grandparents to each other!"

"Only one pair of them."

Her eyes narrowed. She moved closer, and Johnny, thinking she wanted to say something quietly in his ear – since they were, after all, in public – bent down to listen closely. Instead she pressed the heel of her shoe hard into his toes.

"Aaiiiiieeee!" His high-pitched squeal had a lot of people turning to look at them. "Off! Off, Aunt Peggy, please!"

She took her weight off, and Johnny suppressed the urge to grab his foot and hop around wailing with pain.

"God, Aunt Peggy! What the hell was that for?"

She folded her arms and glared at him.

"Fine, fine, I'll get you into the VIP room!" He moved his foot gingerly, winced. Offered his arm and led her through the Bellagio. "Don't understand why you need me to get you in," Johnny grumbled. "You disapprove of gambling."

"Only when you do it. Though I have no intention of gambling today. There's someone in that room I need to see."

"Who?"

"Never you mind."

He sighed and gave in. He should have learned his lesson by now, really. It was always considerably less painful just to give in to Peggy the first time she asked. She usually even asked nicely. Once.

Inside the VIP room, he watched as Peggy glanced around before marching over to the blackjack table and tapping on the shoulder of a good-looking man sitting there.

"Excuse me, Mr Justin Hammer?" her voice was as smooth as cream.

"Yes, sugar, what is it?" Hammer turned in his chair, a smile on his face for the beautiful young girl he was sure that voice had to belong to. The smile slid away as he saw the aged woman standing behind him. "Who the hell are you?"

"I," Peggy said sweetly, "am Tony Stark's godmother." And then she drew back her fist and punched Hammer squarely in the face.

Johnny winced. "I can't take you anywhere," he said as Peggy returned to his side, placing her hand back on his arm. Smiling graciously around her.

"Johnny, dear, of course you can." She cocked her head, as though in thought. "I'm not sure you can take me anywhere _new_ , though. I've pretty much been everywhere already. You know what they say," she twinkled up at him, "Join SHIELD…"

"Travel the world…"

"Meet interesting new people…"

"And shoot them," Johnny finished. "That's why I didn't join SHIELD. Shooting people wasn't all that much my thing."

"I know, my dear boy." Her smile was fond. "You do remind me very much of Steve. And I don't just mean the way you look."

The valet had Johnny's Ferrari waiting. He opened the passenger door gallantly, assisted Peggy into her seat before heading around to the driver's side. "Where to now, Aunt Peggy?" he asked, starting the engine with a roar.

"We're in Vegas, dear boy. Let's go party!"

 **Background for this little story – it's part of my headcanon that Steve's mom, Sarah, had a sister. One day in Brooklyn, Peggy ran into (literally) a blue-eyed blond girl who reminded her so much of skinny!Steve she was absolutely rocked. Further questioning reveals the girl to be Steve's first cousin. Peggy takes her under her wing and ends up introducing her to Jack Thompson, who she marries a few years later. Their daughter is Johnny and Sue Storm's mother. This explains why Johnny looks so much like Steve and also gives him cause to call Steve "Uncle Steve" which annoys the shit out of Steve since Johnny is biologically older than he is due to the years Steve spent in the ice. Because Peggy has known him literally since birth, she doesn't confuse him with Steve, though she does treat him as though he's still five most of the time.**


	6. Peggy And Darcy Raise Hell

_**Peggy And Darcy Raise Hell**_

 _This special extra chapter was written specially for the Fandom For Rainne fundraiser. It was kept exclusive until now but is now generally released as a celebration for me reaching 800 followers on Tumblr (ozhawkauthor, in case you're not already following me there)!_

 _I hope you all enjoy Peggy And Darcy Raise Hell!_

"And who might you be?" Peggy asked.

The brunette jumped two feet straight up in the air with a shriek, spinning around so fast her glasses almost fell off. Pushing them back into place, she glared defiantly at Peggy from dark blue eyes.

"I'm Darcy Lewis and I'm the administrative manager for this facility – and who the hell are _you_?" Darcy couldn't quite believe that the Avengers had someone this old on staff. Someone's grandmother? As far as she knew none of them except Sam and Rhodey had any family left alive, and this lady was _white_ ; Darcy was pretty sure that she wasn't grandmother to either Falcon or War Machine.

"And it's part of the admin manager's job to watch the surveillance feed from the gym for thirty minutes straight, is it?" Peggy didn't answer the question, watching with amusement as Darcy's cheeks flushed red.

The old bat was messing with her, Darcy could see a little quirk at the corner of her mouth. She grinned back suddenly. "Hell no. But it's a really good view. Want to pull up a seat?"

"Don't mind if I do." Peggy accepted a chair, Darcy tapped on her keyboard, and suddenly the camera feed was displayed on the big OLED screen hanging from the ceiling. "Now _that's_ better. Got any popcorn?"

"I'll get my intern to bring us some." Darcy sent a text from her phone and then settled into the office chair next to Peggy. After a moment she got up, grabbed a box of files from Avengers Tower she hadn't quite got round to unpacking yet, and pushed it in front of Peggy. "Here. Put your feet up."

"Cheers." Peggy put her feet up, glanced sideways at Darcy. "Peggy. Peggy Carter."

"Yes, I guessed that after a couple of minutes of wondering who the hell had let their grandmother loose to wander around my facility," Darcy said dryly, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"Heh. You're not fazed at all, are you?"

"Eh, when you've spent months living with legends, what's one more?"

"Good girl." Darcy's intern Paul at that moment delivered two large bowls of popcorn, and Darcy handed one to Peggy. "Thank you, dear. Don't suppose you've got any Scotch to wash it down with?"

"Please! I know there's all the rumours that I'm Stark's biological daughter, but I'm really not, and I don't have his bad habits." Darcy's eyes flickered mischievously over to Peggy. "I only have vodka."

"You and I are going to get on _famously_."

"I'm not sure if I should be delighted or terrified."

"If you're as smart as I think you are," Peggy toasted Darcy with the glass of vodka as Darcy handed it over, "you'll be both."

Smiling, they both settled down to watch the footage of Steve beating the daylights out of yet another hapless punching bag. With no shirt on.

"It does sound like fun," Darcy agreed cautiously, "but tell me again why it's just you and me going?"

"It's a spa weekend, Darcy! You haven't had a weekend off in three months."

"I get that. Why not the other girls, though?"

"Natasha doesn't let other people touch her. You must have noticed that by now. And Wanda – do you really want to spend a weekend with a bored Wanda ranting on about capitalism and having nothing better to do than poke around in our minds?" Peggy shuddered theatrically.

"Good point," Darcy conceded.

"Come on, Darce. I want to go and get pampered and have my old bones relaxed with massages from burly Swedish guys called Sven."

"None of your bones _are_ old, if what Clint told me is true!"

Peggy smirked slyly and played her trump card. "My treat."

 _I was right_ , Darcy thought dismally. _I knew letting Peggy befriend me was doomed to end in my grisly death. I'd heard enough stories. I'm an idiot_.

She risked another peep out from under the massage table.

 _Weekend spa, my ass._

The place was a front for HYDRA.

More specifically, for test subjects recovering from various treatments by HYDRA's Mad Science Divisions.

Technically it was a spa resort as well, but as far as Darcy could tell, she and Peggy were the only 'guests' who were actually paying members.

 _I should have known when she handed me the reservation in the name of Louise Darcy instead of Darcy Lewis. I just thought it was her dementia playing up and humoured her. Never thought to look and see what name HER reservation was in…_ not until they arrived and she found that Peggy was booked in as Margaret Darcy and Darcy was supposed to be her granddaughter.

 _Should have got back in the car and driven home then._

But it was an awfully glamorous resort, and Peggy had immediately started signing her up for all sorts of fantastic-sounding treatments…

 _Undone by my own desire for pampering._

"I think it's safe to come out now, dear," Peggy said cheerfully.

"It might not be safe for _you_. I'm really angry."

"I think I'll take my chances."

Darcy growled, crawling out from under the table. "Why did you have to drag me into this?"

"I needed you for my cover!" Peggy smiled at her as Darcy glared up at her. "You were never in any danger, dear."

"Says _you_. It felt pretty dangerous when that big dude was throwing fireballs around."

"Yes, well he was a _little_ unexpected, but it's all dealt with now. Promise."

Darcy was getting to her feet while trying not to flash Peggy – she'd only been wearing a towel strategically draped over her when the shooting and yelling started – when the door slammed open and Captain America strode in.

"Where is she?"

"Right there," Peggy and Darcy spoke simultaneously, each pointing at the other.

Darcy blinked. "Why would he be looking for _me_?"

"Because he knows _I_ can look after myself," Peggy smirked at her, looked at a blushing Steve, and reached up to pat his cheek. "I'm pretty sure these rooms are soundproof," she stage-whispered loudly before walking out and closing the door firmly behind her.

Darcy gaped at the door, and then up at Steve. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Steve pulled his cowl off, revealing adorably fluffed-up hair. "Um." He'd turned scalding red pretty much all the way to his hairline, Darcy saw with fascination.

"What? You know something, tell me!"

She really hadn't thought it would be possible for him to go any redder, but he was somehow managing it. And muttering something under his breath about ' _still managing me after all these years_ '.

Darcy folded her arms and stared him down. It had the bonus effect of holding her towel up a bit more firmly.

"What are you doing?" Clint whispered in Peggy's ear as he found her bent almost double in front of a closed door, listening at the keyhole. She didn't jump.

"Making sure Steve doesn't cock up his chance with Darcy," Peggy replied with a smirk. "The doors are actually even more soundproof than I thought, though."

The smile slid slowly off Clint's face. "Peggy. Have you taken up _matchmaking_?"

She smoothed her hair as she straightened up. "Good, they're kissing. Yes, Clinton, I believe it's time for me to start a new career. I'm getting a bit old for this spy game, really. Now." She linked her arm through his. "Would you like to tell me how many more years you plan to hide in Natasha's friendzone before you admit to her that you're in love with her?"

Clint seriously thought about just running for it. But Peggy's grip on his arm was far too strong.

"Do I have a choice?" he asked eventually.

"No, dear. But I've let you think that you do quite long enough." She beamed up at him happily.

"Now we're _really_ doomed," Clint said dismally.

 **There may still be more bits of Bionic Battle Granny to come. I've got a half-written scene of her meeting Bucky but it's a bit too angsty at the moment, I have to wait for the crack!fairy to come visit. But then with Agent Carter beginning again next week and Peggy no doubt being badass and providing me with heaps more inspiration… no doubt I'll be revisiting BBG again soon!**


End file.
